Always The Darkest Before
by Jen20
Summary: A peek in on Buffy during S6 ("She wakes in the morning and it seems sudden, when she opens her eyes.") Spoilers up through Dead Things.


**Author:** Jennifer**  
Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.**  
Spoilers:** Through _Dead Things_**  
Summary:** A peek in on Buffy during S6.**  
Feedback: **I'd love some. : )**  
Author's Notes:** This story might be a little confusing (eep). Borrowed a little from Ricky Martin – without permission (sorry!).  
  


ALWAYS THE DARKEST BEFORE

  
Her steps are quick and hard.  
  
At approximately 5:30 AM, the sun slowly climbs up from below the horizon. Hues of red and orange splay across the sky, thin clouds move swiftly towards the west and early birds chirp out songs for the new day (And the day will be beautiful, won't it?). The morning chill creeps up the sleeves of her winter coat, goose bumps form on her arms. She's always cold in the morning – she hardly notices it anymore.  
  
Stopping for nothing – she continues her trek home (Away from the tombstones, the dead). She needs to hurry, before Willow wakes up – before Dawn gets up for school. She needs to hurry because _it_ didn't happen. _It_ never happens (as long as she keeps telling herself). Not too far now.  
  
The first step on Revello Drive, she trips on a crack in the sidewalk (some slayer). And she wishes she didn't leave her watch behind. She hates it when she does, because now she actually has an excuse to go back. But then maybe she didn't even put her watch on yesterday. It could be sitting on her dresser right now. Yup, it's probably just on her dresser, ticking the seconds away.  
  
She winces as the porch steps creak (have to get that fixed), and she breathes a sigh of relief. Home. Once she gets in, it'll be like she never left (after she changes and gets into bed, only to get right out again). The door opens without a sound – she pauses to look back – Buffy steps in quietly.  
  
And at approximately 7:00 AM, she gets out of bed to make sure her little sister is getting ready for school.

  
_Every endless night has a dawning day  
Every darkest sky has a shining ray_

  
It seems sudden, when she opens her eyes. Oh, God. Her surroundings don't match her memory of her own room. Oh, God. A cold dead vampire is in place of her favorite stuffed pig (Mr. Gordo?). Oh, God. She needs her clothes – she can't believe she stayed the whole night (not to mention afternoon), what's happening to her? Oh, God.  
  
Rolling out of the large bed, she puts her clothes on in record time. Leisurely, said cold dead vampire wakes up. Oh, God. Was this supposed to happen? Sleepy blue eyes reach hers before she can put on her mask.  
  
"Leaving so soon, love?"  
  
She realizes she should just leave. He doesn't need to be graced with an answer – he doesn't even have a soul (she decides to ignore the hurt hidden in his inquiry).  
  
"Good-bye, Spike."  
  
Her statement comes out more like a tired sigh, her steps toward the ladder unsteady (maybe she didn't want to leave). It doesn't matter; she just needs to get to her own bed (not that she'll be able to sleep, she can never sleep well without him anymore). She has work today, she can't evade her responsibilities anymore either.  
  
"Buffy…"  
  
Climbing up the steps, she teaches herself something new. Ignore-ance (not _ignorance_ – completely different) is what she gives him. _Ignore_-ance. See? You learn something new everyday.  
  
She's almost out when something grabs her arm (cool fingers that she can feel even through her thick coat, and it still gives her tingles from her fingertips down to her toes).  
  
"Buffy," his voice is soft (it's her favorite kind of sound, she'll never admit it), "Please, just tell me."  
  
The hurt trembling in his words is almost enough for her to take him in her arms and whisper assurances in his ear (she'll never admit that, too), but it's not enough (almost never counts).  
  
"Good-bye, Spike"  
  
It's almost inaudible, but she knows he'll recognize what she said (he always does). Breaking from his grasp, she continues out the door – into the coming light. She doesn't see him break the statue in his crypt; she doesn't hear him kick at the broken angel (or maybe she just doesn't acknowledge it).  
  
At 6:01 AM, the slayer leaves the grounds of the cemetery. The cold air seeping into her skin, she never notices anymore.  
  
Her steps are quick and hard.

  
_When your soul is tired and your heart is weak  
Do you think of love as a one way street?_

  
Warm rays kiss her hair and she wishes the weather would match her mood (or that her mood would match the weather). It never does, though.  
  
The door opens without any creaks or squeaks, which she finds it odd because, well, aren't crypt doors supposed to be old and rusty? She pushes the thought away as he walks up from the lower level (he doesn't look surprised to see her, he never is surprised anymore).  
  
"Wasn't exceptin' you 'till sunset."  
  
She gives him a slight shrug and sits atop the stone sarcophagus in the middle of his home. His eyes watch her – study her. Why did she come here again? To be studied (To be)?  
  
"So, how's Red?"  
  
"She's doing better," (She guesses) with another shrug.  
  
He walks towards her and perches on the armrest of his chair – across from her – his blue eyes still trying to catch her green ones. Maybe he was trying to look into her eyes to do one of those thrall things, she thinks idly and swallows a smile.  
  
"What about the 'Bit? She doin' alright?"  
  
"Is any of this your business?"  
  
Maybe there was too much venom in that. She watches as his expressions harden, his arms cross in front of his chest.  
  
"I haven't seen her in awhile – I'm not allowed."  
  
And why does he have to pretend to care so much? He's a soulless demon. She _knows_ that he doesn't care (then again, she could be wrong, but she won't admit this either).  
  
"You think I'd put my little sister in danger?"  
  
He laughs at this.  
  
"Danger? From what?" He stands up now, his eye flashing the color of gold, "My excruciating headaches, if I ever hurt her, which I _never _and don't plan to."  
  
She decides to change the subject, and she does (like nothing he says matters).  
  
"What do you do on sunny afternoons, anyways? I would think you'd be sleeping, but here you are – all wake-y."  
  
He lets out a non-existent breath (he doesn't need air, yet he breathes – just out of habit – it makes him more human, doesn't it?) and leans back against the armrest.  
  
"Buffy, just tell me," and he sounds so tired, she meets his eyes, "Tell me what you want. What do _you_ – not Harris, not Dawn, not Willow, not your bloody absentee father – _you_ want?" Her eyes fell to the floor in the middle of his question.  
  
"Tell me you care." He's so quiet now, was he always this quiet? He whispers so softly, "At least, a little?"  
  
He's a soulless demon (why does she keep reminding herself?).  
  
"Buffy…"  
  
Her gaze is still on the dusty floor of the crypt – not wavering – just blank, emotionless, like it should be.  
  
"Tell me anything."  
  


He doesn't have a soul. He doesn't –  
  
"You don't need to know anything," her gaze isn't on the dirt anymore – what kind of _home_ was this? The home of a monster. It's a cave (yet you always come back), "You don't have a soul."  
  
He's standing again – anger burns in his eyes (Yup, he's finally getting fed up with everything). She stands, too, and meets his steady gaze (She has the power to do that, doesn't she?).  
  
The Big Bad Vampire and The Powerful Slayer. Nice little fairytale, huh?  
  
"That excuse gets pretty old, don't you think?" snipes the Big Bad Vampire, "You got anymore up your sleeve?"  
  
"You want to know what I want?" the Powerful Slayer crosses her arms, "I want you to just leave me alone, you think you can actually do that? If you love me so much – do that!"  
  
The words escape her before she can stop it and the tale in her mind comes to an end (does she mean anything she ever says anymore?). His eyes soften, and his posture looks defeated. Everything's different.  
  
"I do. You know I do. I – "  
  
"Don't."  
  
He doesn't have a soul. Anything he says is a lie. Everything's always a lie. He's a soulless demon.  
  
"Buffy, love – "  
  
"Stop. You don't have a soul," she steps back, "You can _never_. You're nothing. You're not even alive."  
  
She watches as his eyes close, as he swallows his sorrow (she decides to ignore his pain now). His eyes open, his mouth a straight line.  
  
"It's good enough for you."  
  
And she punches him. He's always there (he doesn't ever leave). Another punch, and he's pushed back and he stumbles, his vampire features coming forth. She strides towards him, her fist pulled back for another hit, but once her hand makes contact, she grabs him by the shirt collar and kisses him (despite the fangs and bumpies). Her eyes are closed – so she can't see. If she doesn't see _it_, _it_'s not happening (so she tells herself).  
  
They ignore the place, the time. They're oblivious to what's around them – the sun setting, the moon rising, the stars shining. Their dance has changed again and they don't even notice. Hours fly by and they're ignorant in bliss.  
  
She wakes in the morning and it seems sudden, when she opens her eyes.

  
_Every endless night has a dawning day  
Every darkest sky has a shining ray_

  
There are envelopes on the kitchen table. Maybe there's a late birthday card in there somewhere. Maybe not. Maybe they're all letters telling her she needs to pay other people her money. Her imaginary money. And she thinks that maybe she could sell the table. She doesn't really _need_ a table to eat. Dawn and Willow probably do. The table is sturdy. She rests her elbows on it as her head is buried in her hands. Maybe the electric company accepts Monopoly money (she knows all her maybes are for nothing).  
  
What is she supposed to do? Her best friend is sitting upstairs trying to stay off magic while she is sitting here doing nothing. What is she supposed to do for dinner? There's an apple in the refrigerator and an old box of baking soda in the cupboard. What is she supposed to do?  
  
In her peripheral vision, she sees the answer machine is blinking. She pretends it's nothing (it's the creditors).  
  
Somewhere in the depths of her mind, she hears the telephone ringing. She pretends it's nothing, too (it's the school calling that Dawn didn't attend again).  
  
She needs to go. Everything's suffocating her. The recovering witch upstairs, the rebel little sister crying for attention, the electric bill, the water bill, the bank, the world, this hell. Tensely, she walks out of the house, closing the door quietly behind her. She walks with a steady pace – she knows where she is going.  
  
The cemetery isn't far and she sighs as the warm rays kiss her hair. She wishes the heavens would open and drown her in its tears.  
  
She pushes the door open easily and shuts it as he walks up from the lower level (he doesn't look surprised to see her, he never is surprised anymore).  
  


  
_And a silence falls between us as the shadows steal the light  
And wherever you may find it – wherever it may lead  
Let your private emotion come to me…  
  
_

  
  


  
  



End file.
